


Last Rites

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Minor Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-16
Updated: 2003-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A close friend has died. The return to Pittsburgh forces Justin to face the pain in facing a loss from long ago.





	Last Rites

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

It was raining. That on its own wasn’t really a surprise is Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I grew up here, lived here, and rain was a constant companion in my life. Even in London, where I went later on, it didn’t rain that much. Or maybe it did – and I just didn’t notice because I was happy there. Not always of course. Nobody is always happy. There were bad times, too. But all in all, there was this constant happiness humming in the air. 

 

“Hey, Justin!” 

 

I turned at the well known voice, and smiled at seeing Michael Novotny, his head almost bald, the remaining hair gray, the face wrinkled, but the eyes still sparkling the way the always did. “Michael,” I greeted him. 

 

We shook hands, and after a moment he nodded, “You look good. Life’s obviously treating you well.”

 

“I can’t complain,” I replied. 

 

“We read about you all the time,” he said with a smile. “The famous artist.”

 

I laughed slightly. I’ve never been able to completely shake off the embarrassment I feel whenever someone compliments my art, even though I should be used to it by now. “Yeah, I suppose there’s been some articles.”

 

“There were,” another voice fell in, and a moment later I found myself in a very familiar hug. “Oh, Sunshine,” Debbie said, pulling back, “look at you. You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

 

Again I laughed. “Thanks.” Not that I really believed her. Time had been gentle with me, but I was showing my age. At forty-eight, I was still attractive, but I had developed a little meat on the middle and my hair line was receding. Deb, however, looked stunning. She was almost eighty, but you couldn’t have told it from looking at her. Still wearing her ever present red wig, her shrill make-up, even in her dark clothes she gave you the impression of someone much, much younger. It was almost as if no time had passed at all. 

 

I told her as much and she blushed. Debbie Novotny actually blushed. “Oh, thanks so much Sunshine. You always know how to flatter a woman.”

 

Michael rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t comment. “How was your flight?” he asked.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Did you husband come with you?” 

 

“Yeah,” I nodded. “He still at the hotel.”

 

Debbie shook her head and clucked her tongue, “I don’t know why you had to stay in a hotel. There’s enough room in Michael’s house.” She sighed, “Oh well, famous people probably stay in fancy hotels, huh?”

 

“It’s not that,” I told her quickly. “But while I’m here I’m going to have some meetings with Gallery owners who are eager to show my most recent pieces. You wouldn’t believe what kind of schedules they have.” I shook my head to emphasize the point. 

 

“Slave drivers, huh?” 

 

I laughed at Michael, “You wouldn’t believe it. Fame doesn’t just fly your way, you know. I had to work hard for it.”

 

“We know,” Deb said, smiling fondly. “We’re all so proud of you, Sunshine.” Then she sighed, “It’s a shame we don’t see each other more often.”

 

“It is,” I agreed. 

 

“I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just like old times.” Debbie tousled my hair, just the way she’d always done and sniffed. “Almost at least.” She sighed, “Will you be alright going to the cemetery?”

 

I nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah. I’ll be good.”

 

“Of course he will be,” Michael chimed in. “He’s happy with his hubby now.”

 

“Yeah, I am,” I agreed.

 

*****

 

The rain was getting worse as we were all standing at the open grave only a few feet away from his. Lindsay had chosen the spot for her partner of more than thirty years. It sounds like a long time, but Mel had just touched sixty when she’d died in a car accident. 

 

Linds stood there, an arm around each of her children. Gus, the spitting image of his father, just with his mother’s blue eyes, and Erin, Mel’s and Michael’s kid, were both crying. Both were married now. Gus to a pretty girl from England., and Erin had married her wife in Vermont three years ago. I was there. It was a great party. 

 

The minister spoke his prayers, but somehow I didn’t really listen. He hadn’t known Mel, hadn’t seen her alive and well, hadn’t listened to one of her rants or laughed about one of her jokes. He was a total stranger and I suddenly understood why Brian had hated his father’s funeral so much.

 

Involuntarily my eyes flickered to the headstone only a few yards away. It was old by now, weathered, but the name was still visible, and it made me shudder. It had been a long time since I’d last seen it. I blinked and quickly looked away. 

 

“Justin, I’m so glad you could come.” Lindsay’s voice, now very close to me, tore me from my inner musings. 

 

I turned and hugged her, “Linds. I’m so sorry.”

 

What could have been a sob came from her throat, “I miss her, Justin. I miss her so much.”

 

“Hey, Jus.” 

 

Gus. The same smile, the same way of raising his right brow, rolling his lips. “Hey.” 

 

“How was the flight?” Even the hair was identical. It’s downright scary.

 

“Great.” Actually, the flight had been hell. We’d been over New York for hours before the plane was allowed to land. Too much traffic. 

 

“How’s the hubby?” He grinned.

 

“Great.” I grinned, too. I can’t help it. I always do at the mention of my husband. 

 

“Justin,” Claire, Gus’ wife, came next. Hugging her was a little awkward with her protruding belly, but somehow we managed. She’s a petite blonde, very smart, and just what Gus needs. Or so I think. “Where’s that gorgeous husband of yours?”

 

“You know what he thinks about funerals.”

 

“Can’t really blame him,” Gus muttered, staring at the still open grave. “They suck.”

 

“Gus, please,” Lindsay admonished. She was still blonde, even though it wasn’t natural anymore, but the years had been kind to her. She’d added a little weight at the hips but her face was still that of a woman much younger. 

 

“Well, they suck,” her son insisted and sighed. Claire wrapped her arms around his waist and held him for a moment. 

 

“Maybe we should all get back to the house,” Lindsay said after a moment. “Emmett prepared a little something so we could talk.” She took her daughter’s hand and held it. “I just can’t be on my own right now. It’s so empty without her.”

 

As we left the cemetery my eyes once again rested on his headstone. I’d loved him. Very much. And I had lost him. Even long before I left Pittsburgh. The name was clearly visible, and again I shuddered. I knew how Lindsay felt. It’s always emptier without them.

 

* * * * * * * * * *  
Epilogue  
* * * * * * * * * * 

“The funeral really sucked,” I said, letting myself fall on the kind sized bed in the hotel suite I shared with my husband.

 

“The wake did, too,” he added, pulling me close. 

 

“The funeral was worse,” I insisted, sighing against his bare skin. Oh, how I loved his skin. It’s still smooth and has the most intoxicating smell. 

 

I felt his lips on my hair, “Did you walk by his grave?”

 

“Yeah,” I whispered. 

 

“How do you feel?”

 

“I miss him. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like hearing about him, but…”

 

“Hey, that’s okay.”

 

“It is?”

 

“Yeah. It’s been a long time ago. I will probably never forgive him for hurting you that way, but I can listen to you talking about him.” 

 

“I love you, you know,” I told him, kissing his chest.

 

“Because I understand how you feel?” he wanted to know.

 

“That too.”

 

A moment there was silence between us. Then he asked, “Were there flowers on his grave?”

 

“Yeah. Molly brings them from time to time. She told me so. It’s strange walking by. I wish we’d have had a chance to talk before he died.”

 

“I know,” he said, stroking my hair. “But it wasn’t meant to be.”

 

“No, probably not,” I agreed. “Will it ever stop hurting?”

 

He gave me one of those long, practiced looks, then slowly shook his head, “No. Those memories always stay with us. The bad ones just like the good ones. All we can do is deal with them, keep our heads above water and swim.”

 

“Yeah, I guess. Still, I wish we hadn’t parted in anger.” I would never get the chance to talk to my dad again. It still hurt. But he was right, it was my father’s loss. 

 

“Gus looked great, don’t you think,” he said, changing the subject. 

 

“He’s the spitting image of his father,” I replied, raising my head and kissing his full lips. 

 

“He is, isn’t he?” His smile took twenty years off his face. 

 

I playfully hit him, “Stop fishing for compliments. Didn’t you get enough of them today. Oh, you’re still so handsome. Oh, you’re beautiful.”

 

He shrugged, and pulled me on top of him,. And then we kissed. One of those long, hot, steamy kisses we had down to perfection now. When he let me go, he smiled into my eyes, his twinkling with passion and amusement. “There’s no such thing as enough, Sunshine. I told you that a long time ago.”


End file.
